


The Drift & Flutter of a Maple Leaf in Early Autumn

by Miaou Jones (miaoujones)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Daddy Kink, Drunk Sex, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Spanking, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-10
Updated: 2009-05-10
Packaged: 2017-10-05 06:57:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miaoujones/pseuds/Miaou%20Jones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After taking Matthew to get a tattoo, Alfred and Arthur put on a show for him in the bedroom. Audience participation is requested.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Drift & Flutter of a Maple Leaf in Early Autumn

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for [The Hetalia Kink Meme](http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com).

Alfred and Arthur lie on the bed, naked. Unless the ink of their tattoos counts, which Matthew doesn't think it does. They're all stripes and naked; stripes and stars and stripes, and naked.

Coat still buttoned up, Matthew sits in the chair, holding the bottle Alfred gave him when they took him to get his own tattoo early in the evening. The tattoo was Arthur's gift to him. A maple leaf. Nary a star nor stripe in sight.

The tattoo was Arthur's gift and the bottle was Alfred's. Tequila, Alfred told him confidently, was the way to go when getting inked. Matthew believed him; still does. Takes another sip. He and Alfred are close to the same age, but Alfred has lived a fast lifetime in his years, fast enough to kiss someone like Arthur like this. Alfred and Arthur tongue each other's bodies, each other's mouths. Alfred's mouth works its way down Arthur's body to lick the head of Arthur's cock. Lick, lick, lick. And then Alfred swallows Arthur down.

Matthew licks the mouth of the bottle; the bottle doesn't lick back. It does roll tequila over his tongue and down his throat and into his belly, giving him a little warmth—but no heat, no glow, not like Alfred and Arthur are giving each other.

Matthew watches them: hot. He shivers. Laps tequila from the unsmiling mouth of the bottle. Looks into it, down to the bottle, down to the little worm inside.

"Matthew. Hey, Matt."

He looks up: Alfred and Arthur are turned his way. Alfred smiles and holds out his hand, bright stars dancing down his extended arm.

Matthew swallows hard and he can't say yes, but he does get up; the bottle falls to the floor and what little tequila is left seeps into the carpet. He looks down, then back up: when his eyes meet Alfred's, he can't remember the spilled tequila and he can't remember the worm. He lets Alfred take his hand and climbs onto the bed with them, and Alfred asks which one of them Matthew wants to fuck and which of them he wants to be fucked by.

Matthew opens his mouth and blinks. Alfred is already undressing him. Not caressing, but not ripping. Methodical.

Alfred looks up from the coat button he's undoing and sees Matthew watching him. "Or maybe you don't want anyone to fuck you?"

Matthew says, "You." Wets his lips and says it again.

Alfred keeps undressing Matthew, slipping Matthew's arm out of the coat sleeve, but he's looking at Matthew's face now. "You want me to fuck you?" Alfred repeats with a smile. Matthew nods and hopes it's not a joke. Sliding Matthew's other arm free, Alfred says, "You want me to fuck you while you fuck Arthur?"

Matthew blinks again. He turns to look at Arthur, stretched out on the bed beside them. He hears himself whimper.

"Okay," Alfred says softly in his ear. "Okay, Matt; we can do that."

It's Matthew's first time, he tells them. Arthur is a little worried that this might be too much for him. But Matthew wants the too much.

"'Course you do." Alfred's teeth show in his smile when he says it.

Alfred smiles, tequila yeah, and shows Matthew how to prepare Arthur, how to stretch him, slick him up. Arthur is on his hands and knees, and Alfred is using just one finger, and Matthew is fascinated. He moves closer. Closer, until his cheek is brushing Arthur's arse and he's maybe too close to focus properly, but he needs to be this close. He isn't aware of what Alfred is saying anymore. He's mesmerized by the rhythm, the twist and slide.

Then Alfred takes his finger out of Arthur and Matthew kisses the fingertip. Sucks the finger into his mouth, and looks at Alfred because he doesn't know if this is cool or absurd.

Alfred makes a soft sound, something more than breathing, and slides his finger in and out of Matthew's mouth, in and out, the rhythm a slow slide.

Looking over his shoulder, Arthur watches them until Alfred notices and stops fingerfucking Matthew's mouth. Gaze locked with Arthur's, Alfred slides his finger inside Arthur again and tells Matthew to join him.

Matthew looks at Alfred. At Alfred's finger sliding into Arthur's arse. Then Alfred's other hand is around Matthew's wrist: "Here, let him help you." Alfred guides Matthew's hand to Arthur's mouth, and Arthur takes him in.

Watching Alfred fucking Arthur like that, feeling Arthur hot and wet around his finger and Alfred still tight around his wrist—"I. I might have to come soon," Matthew blurts out. Blushes. Feels stupid and young.

Alfred takes Matthew's hand out of Arthur's mouth and moves him to Arthur's arse. Folding Matthew's fingers in towards his palm, leaving the forefinger extended, Alfred urges Matthew in, sliding Matthew counterpoint to himself inside Arthur. Then Alfred's hand lets go of Matthew's and moves to undo Matthew's jeans while Matthew slides alone inside Arthur. Alfred curls around Matthew's cock, enveloping the head, stroking down to the base. Uncurls and slides down to cup and caress his balls. "You come if you need to, Matt."

"Will you still fuck me?" Matthew asks, starting to shake.

"Yeah," Alfred says. He smiles, and the smile makes Matthew shake more. "And you'll still fuck Arthur." He keeps touching Matthew's cock with a sliding rhythm of strokes.

Matthew hears himself mewling. His fingers curl into a fist, bunching the bedclothes at his side. His other fingers curl, too; the widening and scraping make Arthur cry out.

Matthew pulls his hand away from Arthur entirely, apologizing—trying to apologize but Alfred is still stroking him off and his apology, though sincere, comes out whimpered and moaned. Rolling over onto his back, Arthur assures Matthew that Matthew didn't hurt him.

"Maybe you should punish him," Alfred says. They both look at him. "You want that, Matt? You need Arthur to punish you?"

Matthew shakes more; a new trembling vibrates inside his shaking. "Yes," he hears himself whisper. Keeps looking at Alfred, because he can't look at Arthur.

Alfred isn't jerking him off anymore; Alfred is holding Matthew's face in both hands. "Ask him for it, Matt." Matthew makes a small inarticulate sound. "Beg him," Alfred whispers. Matthew whimpers desperately.

He feels the bed sinking beneath him as Arthur shifts to sit up. "Alfred," Arthur says, soft and warning.

Before he can say more, Alfred says, "Tell him, Matt. Tell him this is what you want, or he won't do it."

Matthew lets Alfred turn his face to Arthur's. He moistens his lips and bites the lower one.

"Matthew," Arthur says gently, "you don't have to do this. You can still fuck me, if you like. We'll do whatever you're wanting."

"Please," Matthew says. "Please, Arthur, I want you. Want you to. Punish me." He shivers; tastes the shiver, the tequila; looks to Alfred, wants to taste the smile there; back to Arthur. He wants to smile himself, to make Arthur smile, to make Arthur say yes. "Please," Matthew says. He doesn't smile when he says it, doesn't smile in the wake of the word, and Arthur doesn't smile either. But Arthur says yes, and Alfred smiles enough for all three of them.

Matthew expects Alfred to put him over Arthur's knee, but instead Alfred gets him up and standing on the floor in front of Arthur, and does up his jeans. Then Alfred folds himself up onto the bed; Matthew's gaze follows him, confused.

"Matthew," Arthur says, and Matthew's eyes go to him. Arthur is sitting at edge of bed, his legs over the side. "Come here." Matthew goes, and Arthur puts out a hand, stopping him with a brief touch to the hip. "Take down your pants."

Matthew's fingers fumble with the button Alfred has just done up. He's already flushing under Arthur's gaze. He wants to watch Arthur watching him, but he has to look down at his own fingers, at the button, to aim it through the hole and pop it free; then the zip. He looks up once he's got the zip started down.

Arthur isn't looking at Matthew's face; he's looking at Matthew's hands. Looking at Matthew's cock. Matthew flushes more, watching Arthur look at his cock. Arthur has seen it before, just a moment ago, but now Arthur is asking—he's _telling_ Matthew to undress for him, so he can look at Matthew's cock. Matthew feels a surge. He pulls down his trousers and then his briefs so Arthur can look at his cock.

"Stop there," Arthur says when Matthew has exposed himself to mid-thigh. Matthew stops. Straightens. Stretches so his shirt rides up, exposing a little more flesh, flash of his belly, flash of his hip. Arthur touches him again, his hip, the gauze over his tattoo—and then beneath the gauze. Arthur touches his tattoo and Matthew has never felt so utterly undone, so _raw_.

The pad of Arthur's thumb brushes over Matthew's tattoo, along the stem of the leaf, and Matthew stretches more. It hurts. It hurts, oh it _hurts_, and it's so _good_. He arches. Closes his eyes and imagines Arthur's thumb rubbing over his cockhead. Pressing inside him. Matthew's feet skate out, bracing and widening. Eyes closed, mouth open, he imagines Arthur's thumb caressing and caressed by Matthew's tongue. Matthew licks the back of his teeth, sliding his tongue along the roof of his mouth.

He opens his eyes when Arthur relinquishes the tattoo. "Come here for your punishment, lad," Arthur says.

Surge and pulse.

Alfred positions Matthew across Arthur's lap, settles him with his cock and balls nestled safely. Then Arthur begins to touch him: he rests his hand on Matthew's arse, rubs it gently, caresses up along Matthew's spine, pushing his shirt up. A cool draft prickles over Matthew's exposed skin. Matthew squirms warm inside, holds himself still, like a good boy, in Arthur's lap.

Stretching Matthew's arms before him, Alfred holds his hands as Arthur lingers over Matthew's arse with rubs and pats. Alfred explains to Matthew about the safe word, the way that he can tell them if the 'too much' becomes too much of too much, unbearable. He tells Matthew to pick a word, something more and other than 'no,' something more than too much.

The first thing Matthew thinks of is maple. But he doesn't want that; not for this. Not "stripe," either, and not "star." His eye catches the bottle, still on the floor. "Worm."

Alfred smiles. Holds Matthew's hands and kisses him.

The first stroke comes: the curve of Arthur's palm strikes the lower curve of Matthew's arse, just above his thighs. The concentrated tingling sting and slow spread of the burn are urged on by the second stroke, which shoots through Matthew's belly to his cock; a whimper vibrates in his throat, his cock vibrates hot. As Arthur spanks him, he explains that normally, Matthew wouldn't be allowed to get aroused. But this time—_smack_—Arthur wants to feel Matthew hard against him. The next smack is harder; and so is Matthew's cock.

With a repetition and variation of blows, Arthur builds a rhythm and burn, a hot shiver on Matthew's skin that seeps in and spreads through his blood. Arthur's hand keeps finding the sweet spot, the rounded curve of Matthew's arse, occasionally lower to his thighs, never straying too high; Arthur has found the rhythm, tuned to Matthew jerking in his lap.

Helpless and aroused, Matthew whimpers as he writhes against Arthur, feeling him through the cotton of his shirt and skin-to-skin where the shirt rides up with friction. His cock and belly bare against Arthur, Matthew feels Arthur's cock, hot and hard too.

Matthew closes his eyes to better feel Alfred's fingers entwined with his own, to focus on Arthur's hand. He listens past the soft rhythm of his own moaning to the smack of Arthur's hand and the cadence of Arthur's voice as much as his words. He feels it in the strokes and the tone: Arthur encouraging him, telling him how well he's doing, hitting him and telling him how good he is. It should be confusing, maybe, but it's not— it's glorious. "Good lad," _smack_, "there's my good lad," Arthur tells him, and with a deep, hot, blushing surge, Matthew comes.

He lies limp and shaking, breath ragged, as Arthur soothes him with gentle tones, such gentle caresses. Alfred caresses him too, undressing him fully as Arthur pets him. When Matthew kisses Arthur's hand, the palm curves to cup his face. Alfred's hand strokes down Matthew's spine, over his arse, and Matthew whimpers against Arthur's hand. Sliding off the bed, Alfred kneels between Arthur's legs and leans in to kiss, lick, lap the come from Arthur's thighs; Matthew whimpers more. Arthur shifts back on the bed, Alfred going with him, mouth latched onto Arthur's cock, pulling and elongating the flesh with his teeth—and now Matthew moans.

Settled against the headboard with Alfred comfortable between his legs, Arthur beckons Matthew, and Matthew crawls to him. Matthew sucks in a breath of admiration for the stretch and tightening of muscle under skin as Arthur slips down and curves himself, then seats Matthew in the curve of his abdomen facing Alfred. Arthur's hands cup the backs of Matthew's thighs, holding him up and open and out of the way for Alfred. As Alfred licks up Arthur's cock, he brushes against Matthew's balls; his tongue rasps over them as he raises his smiling face to them.

"Push him back down," Arthur says low to Matthew, and Matthew does it: he feels Alfred's closed, smiling lips brushing over his cock, his balls. "Open him for me," Arthur murmurs, and Matthew reaches for Alfred's mouth, pushing his thumb inside. He pushes Alfred down more until Alfred's tequila smile swallows Arthur's cock; Matthew shivers with the vibrations of that smile in Arthur's body beneath him.

Arthur is fingering the maple leaf tattoo again, and Matthew quivers and whimpers. Coaxing Matthew up, Arthur cups Matthew's arse, eliciting more whimpering. Matthew's feet press into the mattress as he holds himself up for Arthur, trembling with the strain. Arthur asks if it hurts, and Matthew can only moan as Arthur kneads him. Then Arthur asks softly, "Did you like it, lad?"

"Yes, Daddy."

The words have slipped out, and Matthew is hot with blush; he feels Arthur shiver with heat.

As Arthur continues kneading, he begins fondling Matthew's balls with his other hand. "Do you like this, son?"

Arthur's breath is hot and heavy against Matthew's skin, in his ear; the words hot and heavy in his head. "Yes, Daddy." He keeps whispering it, whimpering, moaning as Arthur continues murmuring and touching, rocking them to the 'yes daddy' rhythm.

Even after Arthur comes, shaking and hot, he continues rocking Matthew. Settling Matthew in his lap, his cock soft against Matthew now, he touches Matthew's throat to feel the vibrations of the litany. Touches his chest, his torso, his hip. Caresses his tattoo. Massages his balls. Strokes his cock. Matthew writhes helplessly, deliriously, and can't stop mewling. He can't—_yes, daddy; yes, daddy_—stop. Arthur is touching Matthew all over, murmuring and eliciting Matthew's responsive litany over and over, until Matthew—"please, Daddy, _please_"—breaks the rhythm.

"Do you want to come for me now?" Arthur asks, palming Matthew's balls, fisting his cock. "Can you come for me now, son?"

"Yes, Daddy; oh yes," Matthew cries softly; and he does.

Alfred swallows hard, breathes an almost inaudible "fuck," comes into his own hand. His eyes go to Arthur's, and Arthur swallows hard too; and Alfred smiles darker and brighter than tequila, and softer too.

Matthew whimpers when he feels himself being moved off Arthur's lap and onto the bed, two pairs of hands on him. His head is spinning and he closes his eyes again. He feels their hands soothing him, their bodies cradling him, their lips brushing his brow. His whimpers quiet; his head still spins, he floats. He opens his eyes:

Arthur and Alfred are kissing—moving together, mouths and lips brushing with soft, slow movement, flashes of tongue.

Matthew watches them kiss. He wants to kiss them, too. He reaches up blind and blindly kisses the corner of their mouths. They turn to him, bringing him into the kiss; Matthew can taste Arthur in Alfred's mouth. "Can we fuck now?" Matthew murmurs around the edge of the kiss.

Arthur touches his face. "Is that what you want?"

Matthew nods, he's desperate for it, desperate for their cocks: "Desperate for it," he hears himself say.

"Good boy," Alfred smiles.

Matthew feels a ripple of pride and pleasure. "I want to please you," he says openly

"You do," Alfred says, just as quiet and open. "You do please us," he says, and Matthew sees his own tequila smile now reflected in Alfred's.

This time Matthew prepares Arthur himself. He warms the lube just like Alfred showed him, and presses the tip of his finger against Arthur's hole; feels the give, softer than suction, of surrender; slips into the give, into Arthur. Slicking Arthur up, Matthew feels the tremors and hears the moan when he brushes over Arthur's prostate, and he smiles and does it again, looking at Alfred smiling.

Alfred kisses him. Wrapped condom held up between his fingers, he asks if Matthew wants to do it himself. "You," Matthew smiles. He stops fingering Arthur as Alfred rolls the condom over his head, down his shaft. Resting his hands on Arthur's arse, he rubs his thumbs in small circles at the dip of the cleft, gliding lower, lower, brushing over the pucker and holding Arthur open as Alfred guides him in.

The muscle gives: expansion, contraction, and fit—Arthur fits to him snug, good beyond perfect. Matthew clutches, needing to hold on because he's close to spinning again. He latches on with fingers, with teeth, biting down on the corner of the union jack at Arthur's shoulder. Arthur convulses around him, moaning, his swallowed tequila smile down so deep Matthew can almost feel the vibrations around his cock. He slides deeper into Arthur, seeking those vibrations; fingers and tongues the edge of the inked red diagonal, drinking the thrums off Arthur's skin. He starts to really fuck Arthur, thrusting and clinging, wanting to wrap himself around Arthur, wanting to let Alfred fuck him into Arthur, if only Alfred will fuck him instead of teasing like this with the press of his cockhead against Matthew's hole, open and empty and please, _please_—

And then Alfred enters him: and Matthew jerks and freezes with the burn of the stretch. It's almost too much, this, to fill and be filled like this, thick with heat.

And then Arthur reaches back for him and Alfred is draped against his back, and they're hushing and murmuring and moving, oh! moving soft and slow and deep. It's too much, all the too much Matthew has been wanting. Alfred is moving inside him, fast and hard and lovely-deep and Matthew is moving too. He feels the slide of Alfred's thrusts, slap of Alfred's balls against his arse, and Matthew wraps himself around Arthur with abandon, given over to the rhythm.

Alfred's hands are on Matthew's hips to help Matthew find rhythm again, encouraging him to make it good for Arthur: "Don't you want to please Daddy, baby brother?"

Matthew convulses, cries out wordlessly against Arthur's skin, bites softly, imprinting his 'yes' in giving skin.

"Yeah," Alfred whispers, "Yeah, come on."

Matthew begins to fuck Arthur as urgently as Alfred fucks him. He's surrounded by heat and bodies, surrounded and filled and stretched and opened; opening, stretching as he is stretched. Shaking and pulsing, thrumming, hearts pounding, cocks pounding. Moving together, not simultaneously but together, together, together, oh _together_; so good, please, heat and warmth and friction and slickness, and please, yes, please, Matthew wants to come now, needs to—

"Ask Daddy," Alfred says in his ear. "Beg him."

Matthew whines, the please mutating into a desperately inarticulate cry.

"Don't beg," Arthur growls low over shoulder. "Come when you like, son. Come inside me when it pleases you."

_Yesplease; now_—and Matthew comes, _thankyou oh thankyou_, inside Arthur.

Matthew wants to keep fucking Arthur even though he's spent himself; he wants to fuck Arthur to orgasm, wants to make Arthur come. He fucks Arthur with his body, wrapped around Arthur, rubbing himself against Arthur's back, sweat-slick, hot, sweet friction. Fucks Arthur with his whole body, not just his softening cock, which is still inside Arthur, being fucked into Arthur by Alfred.

When Alfred reaches around for Arthur's cock, Matthew catches his wrist. Twisting and bringing Alfred's forearm to his lips, he licks and bites one inked star after another, sucking them into his mouth. He reaches for Arthur: fucks Arthur's cock with his hand, fucks Arthur's back with his torso, suckles Alfred's tattoo, all to the rhythm of Alfred's cock stroking inside him. Matthew feels Alfred's fingers on the veins of his own tattoo, Arthur's fingers entwining with Matthew's and stroking Matthew into a different rhythm on his cock. Matthew moves to Arthur's rhythm, to Alfred's. Lines between them blur, melting into each other: Arthur goes molten, comes over Matthew's fingers, in Matthew's arms. Shivering convulsively, Matthew clings to Arthur as Alfred keeps fucking him, until Alfred comes too. Blurring into completion, heat and glow washing over them.

They shift out of rhythm, out of each other, bodies spilling onto the bed and then coming together again, Matthew spooned in Arthur's arms, Alfred facing them. Matthew floats on lazy finger-kisses, on kisses from lips. "I think I'm falling asleep," he tells them.

"Yeah," Alfred breathes into his mouth. "You can sleep." He breathes a kiss onto Matthew's skin. Matthew's eyes flutter open, and Alfred adds, "Though, y'know, we might molest you while you do." Flash of teeth and tongue and smile.

"Yeah." Matthew's eyes fall shut again. "Just do it hard enough so I'll still feel it in the morning." He drinks in Alfred's low tequila laughter. Floats on it and sinks down and down.


End file.
